


One Link At A Time

by Salai



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: BDSM, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Chains, Chance Meetings, Hunting, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rivalry, Stalking, Temporary Paralyzation, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, alternative universe, broken neck - non fatal, it's a trap, there are a lot more BDSM-related tags waiting to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salai/pseuds/Salai
Summary: This is based on a dream I had 2-3 years ago about a chance encounter of Armand and Santino.I keep thinking about the dynamic and I want to finally get it out of my system and onto the page.NOTE: Santino is going to be the bad guy in this. I adore the character, but if you're not into him being the villain you probably shouldn't read this. It's going to be unapologetically vile. Please heed the trigger warnings.
Relationships: Armand/Santino (Vampire Chronicles)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Darkness there - and something more

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too wild at the beginning. Some veiled stalking.

Usually hunting on a dark road turned out more successful.

Armand was following the deserted path of broken asphalt. On one side grew some withered trees that had lost most of their needles on their low hanging branches. On the other side were scarcely placed street lamps, that were so high their dirty yellow light almost didn’t reach the ground.

Beyond the road lay an expanse of nothing but darkness.

He had been walking without hurry for about half an hour in silence with just the occasional car zooming by when the street broadened like a brook reaching a lake to meet with a parking lot.

It was almost empty and dead quiet, just a long strip of space clad in semi-darkness. The ground was so worn that the asphalt had lost it’s color and had faded to a bright gray. The street lamps were half-hidden in the branches of conifers that stood crowded behind the raw wooden fence which limited the space. Some cars were parked beneath their overshadowing branches. Blackness engulfed everything that lay beyond.

The vampire could hear a rustling from one of the cars. The faint smell of alcohol was carried on cold air and the vampire's hunger peaked.

Armand stalked silently up to the parked car. Black varnish against the black backdrop. The shiny surface caught what sparse light there was, outlining the vehicle.

He had been so focused on the prospect of prey, he only noticed on the second glance that the car was a rather expensive looking one, far too luxurious to be parked in a spot like this. There wasn't a speck of dust on it, no signs of age or robbery. It was a brand new sports car, italian model, and now he was close enough to catch a whiff of fine leather from the seats.

Speaking of which: they were empty.

Especially the seat behind the steering wheel was presenting a remarkable lack of a driver. The door was standing open, yet Armand couldn't see, nor hear or smell the owner of the car. It was eery.

The only warning he got was a slight tingling sensation at the base of his neck, an instinct far more ancient than any vampiric senses that awoke with a jarring screech.

_Predator!_

Armand had always been fast and the sudden speed with which he darted forward and past the car, away from whichever unknown source of danger he had felt, would have rendered him near invisible to the human eye.

However, he wasn't fast enough.

Something hit him in the back, right between the shoulder blades. It took Armand a split second to process that it was a body, throwing him off balance before he met the ground. Dust rose off the dirty paved ground and small pine cones scattered when he came down beneath the weight pinning him down. Armand started to trash beneath his attacker, his heart hammering in his chest too confused to be afraid. Hands were gripping his upper arms with supernatural strength. They kept him down, just long enough to let him realize that he was outmatched.

Despite his 500 years in the blood, outmatched!

He had scraped his palms when he went down. The cuts had already healed, but blood was still sticking to his skin. Armand could smell it. And some more in the breath that washed over his neck, mixed with rich wine. A hand gripped the nape of his neck and fisted his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat.

„Of all the places... of all the people I could have run into.“

The voice held a dark timbre. It was almost a smooth purr, sitting deep in the chest, but the words were spoken harshly, hissed into his ear.

It took Armand a few seconds before realization hit him like a spray of ice-cold water. The stranger was speaking Italian.

And he wasn't a stranger at all.

Strong arms rolled him effortlessly around and he came face to face with the Scourge of Heretics and former Coven Master of Rome.

Pitch black hair fell over broad shoulder. He was wearing it long that night, like he had so many centuries ago. It was tickling Armand's cheek and blocked out what little light the lanterns cast.

Amber eyes stared up at the former Cultist.

„So it really was you I saw walking down the road.“

Armand's breaths were shallow, completely silent, but the boyish chest rose and fell too fast.

„Santino-“


	2. things have changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence (broken neck - not fatally)

„Santino!“  
  
Armand's head swam. Hands held his wrists in an unyielding grip as if they needed to secure snakes that were about to strike, pinning his arms down with both index fingers set onto his palms in a threat to draw blood, rendering them immobile with frightful ease. Armand's legs had been pushed apart and now his knees were pressing up against Santino's side, leaving enough space for the older vampire to use his whole body to trap the auburn-haired youth. The foreign weight was pushing him down like a plummet tied to a drowning man.  
  
„Ah, so you still remember me, cherub. What a pleasant surprise“, Santino mocked. Pale, sharp features, cheekbones arching high beneath a set of coal-black eyes. His lips pulled back into taut lines, baring sharp fangs that had grown long enough to overlap the lower row of teeth.  
  
„This can't be-“  
  
„Oh, but it is. How long has it been?“ He hadn't fed. The coolness of Santinos skin had started to seep through fabric and leather, Armand could feel it on the inside of his tighs, digging into him like claws, but the vampire's growing rage was bearing down on him burning hot. „Two centuries or are it three by now since you drove the hairpin into my medulla?“ The words grew louder until that last sentence left pale lips in an angry snarl. _„Paralyzing me!“_  
  
„Let go!“ Armand kicked his leg up, catching Santino in the side with enough force to crack ribs – had he been mortal. Santino lifted his head and his pupils caught the scarce light in reflexes of yellow tapetum lucidum, erasing every last delusion of humanity.  
  
„Allow me to reciprocate the favour.“  
  
Suddenly, Armand's hand came free. He kicked Santino again, bucking and trashing wildly beneath the dead weight on top of his slender frame. His hand could very well have struck stone instead when it met with Santino's chest. Enraged by the unused feeling of helplessness, Armand hissed and ached up to strike, teeth aiming for the soft flesh of the bare throat above him when Santino caught him by the hair again.  
  
Armand heard the ghastly snap before he felt anything and then he felt nothing at all.  
  
Amber eyes wide in shock, the youth watched his fingers twitch one last time before sliding off Santino's' chest, leaving gashes where he had scratched him through the fabric of his shirt. Armand remembered the rich, dark smell of the Coven Master's blood and he would have shuddered if not for his broken spine.  
  
„You've always been a right little devil.“  
  
Santino got up. Armand's point of vision shifted to the side, allowing him a glance at shining leather shoes and the handstitched hem of suit pants. A car door opened with a faint click, maybe the trunk.  
  
Armand's focus shifted. The offset vertebra in his neck shifted against each other with an audible crack when Santino returned and cupped the back of his head. The tug at his roots was the only sensation returning to Armand. His body was lifted with ease, numb and unmoving, limp like a doll.  
  
„I've been wanting to put you ungrateful, rapacious little beast back into your place“, the dark voice whispered close to his ear.  
  
The smell of leather would have been pleasant if it weren't for the circumstances.  
  
The bleak sky and dark branches above disappeared behind the inside of a car's roof. Armand could make out the shape of two car seats to his side. The door and window were at a strange angle from where he was lying on the backseat.  
  
A door was slammed shut, another one opened. Santino came into focus again. The white light on the inside of the car was cast over his sharp features. Ghostly pale, despite the smell of fresh blood that was coming from his lips. Santino had never been one to overindulge in feeding. There was the shadow of a beard on cheeks and chin, thinning towards the throat. A small golden necklace was visible through the open collar of his dress shirt. Armand stared up at the little cross dangling right above his face as if it were the biggest blasphemy he had ever suffered to withness. Santino caught his stare and smiled.  
  
„Time has passed and things have changed, cherub. You'll see soon enough.“  
  
A hand came down over his eyes, gently closing them and then there was darkness.


	3. Bastard!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion between Santino and Armand isn't really what one would call heartwarming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this short chapter warrants any content or trigger warnings. Please let me know if you feel that I should add any.

The first feeling that returned to Armand was a searing pain at the back of his neck when his spine started to set itself right again.

He must have made a noise because the next thing he knew was the sound of footfall approaching him. The paralyzed vampire quickly blinked his eyes open, only to be met with a familiar pair of polished shoes reappearing in his limited line of vision.

„Unsuccessful hunt, was it?“, Santino mocked the clearly slowed process of him healing due to a lack of blood in his system.

Armand growled at the back of his throat.

„Now, now, cherub. No need to be like that.“

A perfect seam of black suit pants appeared in his field of vision, followed by a crotch he had not desired to ever see in such close proximity. It was quickly obscured by ghostly pale hands reaching for his face. Golden cufflink held the crisp white cuffs of the shirt beneath the jacket together. What made Armand bare his teeth in revulsion was the silver gleaming metal appearing before his eyes.

Not a knife, though he would have preferred one to the steel collar Santino snapped around his aching neck. It was tight enough to feel the cold bite into his exposed throat.

Armand gasped for air.

„Shhht, it's alright. You'll get used to it“, Santino said as the lock clicked shut mockingly faint. „I promise.“

A length of chain fell rattling to the stone floor as Santino let it slip from his fingers. Armand could feel its weight tug at the front of the heavy collar. A perfectly smooth ring of finger-thick titanium encircling his neck. Unbreakable, even for the supernatural strength of the immortal.

Armand felt helpless rage rising in his chest before it burst from his lips, the second the last fibers in his spine had reconnected.

„Damn you! DAMN YOU TO HELL!! **BASTARD!!!**“


	4. Bitch!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santino visits his captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: blood-drinking, non-con

Had it been days?

He felt Santino approaching him.

_Felt _him, because this time the other vampire wasn't polite enough to make his presence known by letting the sound of footfall herald himself. He was as quiet as he had been in the parking lot, but he had entered the room and Armand felt the hair on his neck stand on end.

Armand didn't move from where he was laying on the floor, with his back turned towards the door. No captive would ever turn his back on his captor. The gesture was almost petulant.

„Are you sulking? Just like a child? Really?“

„I am not a child.“

„No, cherub. I know. You're a vile bitch and you would have been at my throat the instant I opened the door were it not for the chain.“

At that, the boy shifted on the hard slab of stone and lifted his head. The chain followed his movement with a soft chime.

„Why are you standing all the way over there?“, Armand asked sanctimoniously.

Santino could see the unnatural shimmer of gold beneath curls the color of autumn-leaves as light caught in the youth's eyes.

„If you wish for me to come closer all you need to do is say so“, he answered nonchalantly. Santino wore black like he had centuries ago. But unlike the threadbare robe, the three-piece italian suit was tailored to perfection. Its shoulder-seam was straight like an arrow, inclining slightly towards his sleeves. Pale hands undid the obligatorily closed button at the front with a gleam of golden rings and Santino took the jacket off. Beneath it he wore a vest cut from ink black satin. The white shirt did nothing to conceal his build. Strong shoulders and narrow hips. Armand remembered feeling the defined muscles of his arms, even concealed through the layers of fabric all too well.

„There is nothing you can do to scare me anymore, Santino.“ Amber eyes followed Santino unblinkling as he unclipped the exquisite piece of jewelry from his tie and loosened it.

„I don't _want _to scare you, cherub.“ With each deliberately slow step the smooth leather of his dress shoes flashed beneath the handstitched hem of his pants. „I want to remind you of who I am.“

„I know who you are!“ The second he advanced, Armand was on his feet.

„Do you? You keep calling me by my name when it is my title that should be on your lips.“

„Is Cherub my title then?“ The chain rattled from where it was swaying heavily from the circlet around his neck, brushing the stone where it was connected to an unyielding ring that had been set into the floor between the stones. „Or is it Bitch?“

„You are certainly deserving of the later“, Santino answered unfazed. The tip of his shoe crossed the line between two stone and golden eyes shifted, lashes flitting like the wings of a libellula.

Armand moved with the speed of a striking snake.

The chain pulled taut-

Santino had caught his hand at the wrist.

A red line run across his cheek and a bead of red began to bloom beneath the tip of a fingernail sharp and translucent as a shard of glass that was sitting inches beneath his eye.

Santino held his burning gaze. Slowly, he turned his head and pressed his lips to Armands fingertips.

„Bitch!“

The tongue felt scalding hot against his skin and Armand hissed startled by the gesture. His arm flinched, but the grip wouldn't yield and Santino pulled back before he could tear into his flesh with claws.

„Predictable“, Santino said as he caught his other arm.

The collar was pressing against the flesh of his throat and Armand knew that the bruise was just starting to fade. His movement had pulled the collar around and he had been stopped too harshly. He knew that his voice needed to recover from the crushing force that had hit his windpipe. So he hissed again.

Santino smiled knowingly. Still holding Armand's wrists, he lowered his head until they were on the same eye-level.

The redhead's curls were in a tangle and from beneath them, his eyes shone like liquid honey.

Santino let go of one wrist and spun the boy around before catching him again and pressing his arms to his chest as he pulled him against his chest.

„You have always been morbidly pretty, Armand. Your beauty is meant to be possessed.“

The voice was too close to his ear. Dark and familiar like the inside of his coffin in the catacombs had been and the smell of blood mixed with the essence of what he recognized as Santino's own faint musk. Even the expensive aftershave didn't mask the hint of oak and alcohol.

Not wine. Older, sweeter, golden. A rare liquor, intoxicating and not meant for communion. And oak like the roots growing through the ceiling, the wooden throne, the boards of the new casket beneath the soft velvet, the burning pyres.

Armand felt his heart-beat in his throat as he tried to hold his breath despite his vertigo.

Then he screamed.

Long fangs sinking to the hilt into the soft flesh on the nape of his neck... Santino never drank directly from the vein!

It didn't hurt. Not only. Not unpleasantly.

He wished it would.

„You can't!“

Santino's lips closed over the wound and Armand winced at the feeling of a strong jaw holding him in place with sharp teeth buried deep in his shoulder. A whine escaped his throat and he wondered if Santino had been waiting to hear it because the next thing he knew was that the vampire started to suck at the wound.

„No-“

Gently at first, the pull became stronger and Armand knew that Santino was leaving a bruise – a mark – as he drank deep. Sucking until his mouth was filled with hot blood. It wasn't the swift draughts one stole from a lover, but agonizingly drawn out and glutton mouths full of hot red.

„Santino“, Armand gasped as he struggled in a futile to wrench free.

„Stop!“

His strength was being drained with every tweak of pain from the fangs preventing his bleeding wound from closing too soon.

„Santino-“

Armand could hear the obscene sound of the man swallowing right next to his ear.

„NO!"


End file.
